


The Case of the Errant Nuts in the Forest

by heartofslash



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Camping, Comedy, Dialogue Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofslash/pseuds/heartofslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decides that Sherlock needs some time away from London. Sherlock does not agree. And there may be ulterior motives. Possibly a disappointed squirrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Errant Nuts in the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msb66](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=msb66).



> Takes place in an alternate universe where there was no TRF. Just forget that ever happened. Inspired by my birthday card from my dear friend msb66, upon which Sherlock Holmes and John Watson go camping.

“We’re here.”

“Here where?”

“Where we’re going.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You said we were going to have fun.”

“I might have said.”

“No, I distinctly remember. I heard the words. ‘It will be fun, Sherlock, I promise,’ you said.”

“Yes, yes, I did, didn’t I.”

“Well?”

“Well…”

“Where’s the case?”

“What case? There’s no case.”

“How can there be no case? You said _fun_ , John. We already covered that. Do keep up. So I ask, where is the case? I see no body, no crime scene, not unless a squirrel has been burgled. Has there been a rash of nut theft? I need a murder for it to be _fun_ , John. Or at least a very clever robbery. With a locked door. There aren’t any doors at all, let alone a locked one. We’re in the middle of a forest. With no body, John. It’s all a bit bizarre.”

“Says the man who talks to a skull.”

“You leave Algernon out of this.”

“Precisely. We left Algernon back at Baker Street, where he belongs, along with you case files, your lab equipment and your computer.”

“I packed my computer.”

“I unpacked it.”

“Why? Why would you do a thing like that?”

“You’re having a night off. Besides, there’s no internet here.”

“No internet! Where in God’s name have you brought me?”

“We are camping.”

“No, we are not.”

“Yes, we bloody well are.”

“I am a Holmes. WE do not camp.”

“You do now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“We are getting back to nature.”

“Oh my God!”

“Getting some fresh air.”

“Fresh air? Fine, fine… ahhh. Lovely fresh air. Very piney. Now can we please go back to London? With any luck there will be a really juicy murder. Maybe a double. With a locked door. At this point, I’d settle for a room.”

“No. We’re getting away form all that for one night. You need a break. You’re driving everyone round the bend. You haven’t slept in six days.”

“I slept last night!”

“Finally.”

“And woke up in a car, miles away form London and heading ever farther away.”

“Not my fault you sleep so soundly. I tried to wake you this morning. You were out like a light.”

“I hadn’t slept in six days!

“I believe I already mentioned that.”

“You also mentioned _fun_ , John, and I’m not seeing it.”

“Look, Sherlock, you need a vacation. You’ve been acting barkers.”

“No more than usual.”

“You _licked_ Lestrade’s overcoat.”

“That was an experiment.”

“An experiment in driving everyone round the bend.”

“Only to prove he was lying about not smoking.”

“It was weird, Sherlock.”

“No, John, what’s weird is abducting one’s flatmate and dragging his unconscious body out to the middle of nowhere in the countryside, where there is nothing to do – and I do hope for your own physical safety this is not what you had in mind – solve the case of the errant nuts in the forest. Because if that is so, the burgled squirrel is going to be terribly let down when I do not take the case, and it will be all your fault. What do you have to say for yourself, John?”

“I did not abduct you. You agreed to it.”

“I did not such thing.”

“You packed your bag.”

“Which you proceeded to unpack.”

“I repacked it with useful things. See? Hand me those tent pegs.”

“Tent pegs. What on earth do we need tent pegs for?”

“For the tent, genius. You could help me put it up, you know.”

“Is that what that revolting thing is?”

“It’s not revolting.”

“It’s safety orange, John. It is, by every definition of the word, revolting. Not to mention, it smells. Insect repellant. Moth balls. Mildew. It’s been in somebody’s cellar.”

“Took all your massive intellect to figure that one out, did it? A tent stored in a cellar. Imagine that.”

“Hair growth tonic. Medical antiseptic. And a faint trace of the coffee from the cafeteria at Bart’s. Good God, John, you’ve borrowed a tent from Mike Stamford.”

“There. You solved it. You’ve had a case. And here I thought your sense of smell was impaired, what with you having to lick Lestrade’s overcoat.”

“Why do you keep going on about the licking? I was confirming a hypothesis, which was that Lestrade had been smoking cigarettes.”

“Why should you care so much about it?”

“Because he never shares with me.”

“Of course he doesn’t share. I warned him. If he gives you so much as one puff, I’m sending you to his next murder scene alone. _Without me._ ”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever.”

“I am clever. I knew Lestrade was smoking cigarettes without having to lick his overcoat.”

“For your information, that told me about a lot more than just his smoking habits.”

“I don’t want to know. And give me back that tent pole.”

“NO.”

Sherlock. Give it back. The mallet too.”

“You said you wanted me to help. Honestly, you are one big annoying ball of contradiction today. Hold that line for me, right there. The most puzzling of which is why we had to travel all the way out here when we could have taken a night off at Baker Street with so much less fuss.”

“You’re the one who is fussing.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“You’re fussing like a… like a fusspot. You’re all wound up tight like a spring.”

“I assure you I am not wound up like anything. I’m perfectly calm. You lick one man’s overcoat and the worlds suddenly thinks you’re an invalid and need to take the cure in the countryside.”

‘What the buggering hell are you doing?”

“There, John. Your tent.”

“You put it up wrong.”

“I put it up better. While I despise the very notion of ‘camping’ for ‘fun’, I categorically refuse to do it in an inferior, mass-produced, frankly alarming tent that is about to so obviously leak if I so much as brush against the damp wall of it in the night. I’ve reconfigured the poles to allow for more efficient shedding of moisture, whilst providing four percent more headroom and widening the centre by half a foot.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s a perfectly good tent if you follow the rules.”

“I think not. This gives greater protection from the elements and, a happy coincidence, more room for certain activities.”

“What ‘activities’?”

“Come now, John. Did you really think I wouldn’t see through your laughably transparent ploy? You obviously brought me out here so you could have your way with me.”

“My WHAT?”

“Your way, without the danger of being overheard by Mrs. Hudson or the other neighbours.”

“That. Is absurd.”

“Is it? Your prudishness, while somewhat traditional, bordering on quaint, is also banal. But here you can do whatever you desire without risk of eavesdroppers, inadvertent or not. And nary a CCTV camera in range. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past my brother to divert satellite resources, but you have provided a tent, such as it is, which will provide adequate cover, so long as we don’t have to bright a light source within.”

“I don’t have any desires.”

“I think you do.”

“Well, I. Now that you mention it…”

“Good. You’ve caught up. Excellent. I assume you include the necessary supplies when you so rudely repacked my bag?”

“Supplies?”

“Condoms. Lubricant. You’re a doctor. You know better than to risk unsafe sexual activity with a person with my illustrious history with street drugs.”

“I hadn’t really thought of that. God, no.”

“Though I can state with reasonable confidence that there is nothing to fear. I was never so far gone as to be _stupid_. But as a doctor, you know better than most that most people would have no way of knowing that about themselves. There’s no telling how many times I may have blacked out and how I may have been taken advantage of in such a state. In light of these uncertainties, I have been thoroughly tested and retested, not always of my own volition. Mycroft is completely annoying but he’s also meticulous. What’s wrong? Why do you look like that?”

“The very thought of anyone taking advantage of you turns my stomach.”

“A noble sentiment. To be fair, I did not suggest you wanted to take advantage of me. I said you would have your way with me. Don’t you want to?”

 “You’re forgetting one, small, insignificant detail, Sherlock. I’m not gay.”

“So you’ve said. But you’re never said you’re straight either.”

“True.”

“So, shall we?”

“Sherlock, I didn’t bring you here to take advantage of you.”

“That would have been foolish. I know Baritsu.”

 “However, I won’t lie.”

“Wise choice. I can always tell when you’re lying.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You’re lying now.”

“Am not.”

“Now you’re just being obstinate.”

“I only wanted you to get away from it all for one night. Did you honestly think I’d go through all this just to get you to have sex with me?”

“I stand by my deductions, as always.”

“Well, they’re wrong.”

“Are they?”

“Yes, of course they are. But, now that we’re here…”

“Yes…”

“You did do a good job with the tent.”

“Hmmmm.”

“I mean, if YOU wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You’re having second thoughts. Not unexpected. You are, as I mentioned, traditional, and I am hardly a traditional choice of mate.”

“Who said anything about mating?”

“It’s what we’re talking about.”

“Mate? You’re talking about mating for life. I’m talking about getting a leg over.”

“Fine. That too. You don’t want to change the dynamic. Harm our work relationship. Spoil a beautiful friendship. All the clichés. I have read up on these things, John. I fully understand why you would be reluctant to embark upon an interaction of a more intimate nature.”

“No, no, you don’t, because what I’m trying to say is that camping sex is not always what you hope for.”

“Oh.”

“There. I surprised you.”

“You’ve done a lot of it, then?”

“Yes,. Enough. More than my fair share.”

“I see. Want to do some more?”

“God, yes.”

“Excellent.”

“Ooof! Not yet! The mattress pads are self-inflating. You have to wait for them to firm up.”

“Oh for the love of… I’m tired of waiting. I’ve been waiting ever since you shot that cabbie.”

“Hang on. You said you were married to your work.”

“That was before you shot the cabbie!”

“Damn.”

“Never assume anything, John. There is always more incoming data.”

“Oh.”

“Interesting.”

“What… what are you doing?”

“Collecting data.”

“Yeah, I… I quite like that.”

“As do I.”

“Lucky me.”

“Indeed. And this?”

“God, yes.”

“And…”

“Really?

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not sure. It might be a bit kinky.”

“Why would you be under the impression that I am vanilla?”

“I was under the impression you were asexual.”

“An impression I actively cultivate for the sake of my privacy. I do hope you won’t be blogging about this.”

“Who would believe it? Ahhh, so good. So very, very good. Uh, why are you stopping?”

“Shush.”

“You stopped.”

“There is an animal outside the tent. Mammalian. Eight and a half pounds. Slight limp in the right, rear leg. Could be a recent sprain. More likely an improperly-healed hairline fracture from its youth, suggesting a species that nurtures it’s young well into adolescence. But don’t worry. It’s a herbivore. You can tell by the teeth.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Distraction. I see what you mean about camping sex.”

“That’s not what I meant at all. I meant midges biting you in awkward places and roots stabbing you in the back.”

“Wrong time of year for serious midge activity, and between the camphor and the insect repellant I doubt they’d find us anyway. As for the roots, the mattress is now fully inflated, and with the added layer of my coat you’ll be adequately protected.”

“Oh, God. Your coat. The lining of your coat.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“On my bare arse.”

“It is rather attractive.”

“It’s decadent. Yeah, right there!”

“Who’s kinky now?”

“I’m never going to be able to look at you in this coat without picturing this, right here, right now.”

“All part of the plan, john.”

“Plan? What plan?”

“You are ridiculously predictable. I go without sleep for a few days, lick a few overcoats, and _voila_.”

“ _Voi_ … ahhhhh.”

“Mmmmm. Not that I was sure about the camping part. It was one of seventeen possibilities.”

“Wait. A few overcoats?”

“You didn’t notice when I licked yours. That’s why I had to move on to Lestrade’s. Up my game.”

“You licked my overcoat?”

“I’m licking something far more personal now.”

“So you are. And I’m not complaining.”

“Good.”

 

The End


End file.
